A Change of Heart
by The Nightingale's Song
Summary: Kay, EC. An alternate view of Erik's final days on Earth. One shot.


**A Change of Heart**

**Foreword: **This is another one-shot of Erik's last moment as laid out in Kay's novel, from his point of view. It picks up directly after Erik releases Christine and Raoul and invites Nadir to tea. Enjoy.

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I'd always been alone. Others were present, perhaps, in my daily life, but no one had been able to shatter the haze of oneness which constantly surrounded me, but three people. Three people, whether I'd intended it or not, had taken the initiative to reach out, hands trembling with fear, and touch the very core of my being. While most others had at least a dozen of these people — people who they could call their friends, people whom they actually cared for, and who cared for them — merely within their childhood, my wretched existence had come to know only three of them in its entirety, all due to an unfortunate circumstance over which I was given no control, and certainly no choice.

With the first of these three people, my contact with him had been severed unwillingly after only three years of knowing him, but even in that short amount of time, an unwavering respect for him was forged within me, at a time of pure adolescent arrogance, when I was sure I would never again pay my respect to any man. Though I would not admit to it then, as admission would solidify the growing dependence which I'd sworn never again to feel, I looked up to him as my father. The only man I ever called 'sir'…

As relations had been abruptly cut with him, I feared history would repeat itself as I turned my back on Christine and her boy to lead Nadir into my kitchen.

Tea was prepared, as I'd said, but neither of us took any. We were each lost in our own eddies of thought which encompassed the rapid events of the past evening. Even I, initiator of it all, did not fully comprehend.

Had I lost hold of my sanity? Most assuredly. With a plan such as mine, I must have. Crazed by love…saved by love. Love. Love. But I could not think of that just yet.

The sensation was horrid, my head light and vision blurred, the action of the night escalating to a crescendo…but it was not going as planned…no! I was losing control rapidly. Fragments of my past being flashed before my eyes; the boy's empty threats and pleas, Christine's sobbing, Nadir's ineffective shouts intended to bring me back to reason, all swirling and combining into a miserable, deafening cacophony of my own creation. I struggled to keep control, I spoke but knew not what I said. This was not what I'd planned!

Perhaps foolishly, in all previous vision of the plan, I had imagined myself cool, collected, and entirely in control of all three of my companions. The boy had groveled, Nadir had reasoned with him, Christine had agreed to my nonnegotiable terms, not without reservation, but without outright protest, and I had released the prisoners, who were largely unharmed, for, in truth, I had little desire to kill either of them; only if absolutely necessary. Least of all would I wish to murder the daroga, the only man with whom I've ever felt the curious bond of friendship, and ever will. Nadir had led the boy away, and Christine had become my bride…

Looking back, it's almost maddening that, even in ideal fantasies as it were, I allowed myself to pretend things would go so flawlessly — though, granted, things had gone far better than the reasonable — or else cynical — part of me had ever predicted.

Suddenly — it all stopped! A calm, a remarkable, beautiful silence, and Christine standing before me, her quiet, smooth voice cutting through my madness like a sharpened blade, the gown I'd had tailored uniquely for her clinging to her form, which was now somehow more rapt, less shrinking before my own formidable one, as it once had been…almost as if she no longer feared me. And then…

Nadir was the first to speak between us. "You've sent them away?" he asked placidly. I gazed at him, deep into his black eyes. They were full of compassionate understanding which I did not deserve from him, under any circumstances. I felt a pang of intense regret as I noted how much Nadir had managed to age in this evening alone.

"Yes," I said finally, my tone noncommittal.

"Without any threat?" he inquired in an entirely non-accusatory manner.

"Of course," I replied with a hollow laugh. "How could I threaten her, after what she's done? No, I sent her away with a mere request."

Nadir's lips parted as though he were about to question this so-called "request," but he seemed to trust me. In some inconceivable way, he trusted me, even after my inexcusable behavior of the evening past. It was not the first time I realized Nadir's capacity for forgiveness was far to vast.

"Of course," I went on after an interval of silence, "such final requests are to be expected of a dying man."

My imminent demise had an effect on Nadir which I, so absorbed in my own thoughts and feelings, had not expected. We were friends, after all; I had forgotten it. He'd questioned me coolly, though I could sense a note of slight panic; I'd answered, even so, with the utmost peace and serenity.

"Why do you say this?"

I then chose to disclose to him my recent medical timeline, its highlight being the seizures which rose in intensity each time one occurred.

His brow furrowed in concern and worry, though you'd have to be watching carefully to notice, as his features had been this way for so much time of late that it hardly made a difference on his countenance.

"Won't you see a doctor?" he asked fearfully.

"No," I'd responded, waving the suggestion away as though it were completely foolish and ill thought-out. "I'm long overdue on this. The time is now. Even with Christine," I added bitterly, redirecting my gaze downward. The death I'd looked forward to since my birth had suddenly morphed into something to be dreaded; though not feared, certainly not looked forward to, for now I had someone to live for.

"And now it's too late, Nadir," I breathed. "It's too late to go back."

Nadir's initial intentions were for me to rest, and he to reside within the walls of my home, nearby in case anything should happen. This, however, would not stand with me.

"I'm not a bedridden invalid yet, for Christ's sake," I'd snapped, my temper flared. I could not take kindly to the downgrade of status health-wise; for all of my other misfortunes pertaining to my body, my health had otherwise been nearly perfect. It suited me well, for that way, I would never have to call upon anyone to nurse me, would never be forced to be dependent upon anyone against my obstinate will. And now, the suggestion of being constantly monitored as I rested, by my only friend, no less, who had already saved my hide? Had I no dignity? A grown man taking complete care of another of his kind! Ludicrous! If ever I were bound to my bed in sickness, the only one I'd ever want as my nurse was Christine, as if her boy would allow that. In truth, I was beginning to have the sickening suspicion that he would not allow her back at all.

It would only be sensible, of course. The boy knew me only from what she'd told him, and what he'd seen that night. Surely the two in combination would lead him to think me a complete madman. Perhaps I was for ever thinking he'd bring her back to me. Certainly if I were in his place, I would get her as far away from Paris as quickly as possible. His place. A thing I had regarded with such envy up until only a few nights ago. I'd desired it even more than I had Christine, for if I'd been in his respectable position, I would automatically had her as well, or so I thought at the time.

But now it seems beauty has chosen the beast, in an unforeseen twist of the plot. I'd wanted her to accept me, befriend me, treat me as an equal, but love me? For her to love me, who was unlovable? I'd given up hope on such a thing, long ago. I'd barely had hope on it to begin with.

She could have had the handsome young man who so many girls must dream of, but instead she has chosen a cynical old man whom no one has ever desired, in any way, shape or form.

She never said it, but in that kiss, I knew; in her tears, I knew, in her eyes, I knew. When the boy and daroga emerged from the chamber, there was a oppressive change which one had to have been completely senseless to miss. I saw in the boys eyes that he knew something was amiss. But no one knew better than I.

We stood close, so close, not speaking, barely blinking, as we wondered silently but as one, Why us? Why you, why I? I basked silently in the victory of finally showing her what I felt, finally succeeding in making her feel the same. We were on the same level then, we we total, intermingled equals, though our bodies did not touch.

And yet, the very same love which had saved me, seemed to have destroyed me. After all I'd done to her, after claiming that I loved her…torn her heart in two, purged her of her fragile soul before returning it to her, gray, cold, and unfamiliar after being molded by my unfeeling hands. I'd conflicted her, angered her, frightened her, while if I'd loved her unselfishly, I would have done nothing of the sort. And now, she loved me without a reserve or thought of self-gain, and had taught me to do the same through that one, simple kiss. While I'd once wanted to possess, I now wanted simply to hold, simply to love as so many other couples do. It shook me to the core with grief to think that now, after she was truly mine, I may not even be able to do so.

In a blind rage one afternoon for this very reason, I destroyed my home, each room, save hers. Through the haze of anger I cannot remember what objects I ruined, exactly; I only know that I excited myself through the combination of rage and physical activity; it was what brought the final seizure on. I took to my mother's bed, having nothing more to do than wait for her, or wait to die.

I drifted in and out of sleep, not eating nor drinking, only waiting.

One week, two weeks passed, and nothing. One bleak evening I lay in my mother's bed, wondering if I shouldn't simply put an indefinite end to this foolishness, when a firm knock came upon my door. Nadir materialized.

"What is it?"

"Your mademoiselle, Erik. She has arrived." Judging by the look upon his face and the tone in which he spoke these words, I could tell that Nadir, too, had given up on Christine ever returning.

"Show her in," I said warily, not daring to betray the excitement and joy which was slowly being born within me.

And suddenly there she was, glowing, shining, and beautiful to me despite her true physical condition. She wore a nondescript blue dress upon a frame which had grown thinner since our last meeting, her blonde curls limp, faint though noticeable dark circles beneath once vibrant blue eyes.

"Erik," she breathed, tears welling in her eyes, apparently at my condition. My throat tightened at the thought of her caring so, and I could not speak, but merely gestured to the side of the bed where a chair was prepared. Instead she knelt beside me, taking my bony hand in hers and holding it against her cheek as silent tears rolled down it.

"I had the most dreadful time getting away," she said finally. "Raoul…did not wish for me to come to you."

"Of course not," I replied pleasantly. "He is not a stupid boy." She gazed up at me, seemingly surprised.

"You mean…it does not anger you, his opposition?"

I laughed wryly. "Child, in my state, I needn't waste the energy on being angry over insignificant things. Most importantly, you are here, you have made it, and you are with me."

"I am with you," she repeated faintly, almost in a dreamlike way. "Are you feeling that poorly?" she asked suddenly, her voice full of worry.

"Not poorly. I am simply weary," I told her. "It is a painless, tasteless tiredness, which I suppose we are all one day fated to know, and which we have no hope of remedying."

Her eyes widened. "You mean, you are certain? You were being truthful?"

"Of course I was. Why would I lie about such a thing?"

She transferred her gaze from me to the bedspread, tracing the pattern with her fingertip. "I had only hoped," she whispered uncertainly, "that it was another trick of yours, that when I came here, you would take me by surprise, and whisk me away to some far away land." Endearing child! Her cheeks flushed at this admission, and it was all I could do not to take her poor face in my hands and kiss it.

"No, Christine," I replied sadly. "There are certain limits even to my magic." We were silent for a moment. "Would you have liked that, though?" I dared to ask.

"Liked what?"

"For me to have whisked you away to some far away land?"

Only in the dim lighting and with her eyes casted downwards could she answer me yes.

At least an hour passed in extended silence. She took a seat in the chair, and though she held my hand in her lap, gently stroking the back of it with her thumb, her actions were absent, and she gazed off into space listlessly. Once or twice I considered speaking to her and calling her from whatever reverie she had fallen into, but I held back my words. She seemed incredibly deep in her own thoughts, and it was a solitude which I could not shatter.

Finally she spoke, but before doing so, raised my hand to her lips and kissed it softly. What affection she bestowed upon me! But as to whether I deserved it, I was unsure. I knew only that I wanted it more than anything else; I'd waited years for this.

Her soft, supple lips seemed to linger upon my flesh for glorious hours, the tenderness of her kiss meeting with the thin harshness of my hands, worn and weathered by years of labor, labor of beautiful blessed creation.

She asked me if I would excuse her for a moment; I agreed, and watched her kiss me once again before rising from her seat and exciting the bedroom.

Two, five, ten minutes passed before she returned, though now accompanied by the daroga. I gazed upon her with a slightly wrathful contempt, wondering why in God's name she'd brought another into this intimate, final meeting. She and Nadir exchanged a meaningful glance.

"Erik, sit up, if you can," she said with a surprising command.

"What?" My eyes darted suspiciously from her to Nadir. What was this secret they shared?

"Sit up," she repeated as if I had not heard her the first time. "Please," she added imploringly, a note of desperation in her voice. I could not refuse her, and carefully hoisted myself into a seated position on the edge of the bed. I was thankful that she did not come to my aide, as her doing so would have made me feel even more helpless than I already did, and would have likely earned a negative response from me which was not called for in this situation.

She knelt before me once more, and I dare-say she held a sort of superiority in her eyes, for this time, she knew more than I. Perhaps she was even enjoying the fact that I was squirming with ignorance at the hands of herself and Nadir.

He stood concealed in the shadows of the doorway, silently watching us with an expression of quiet awe laced with subdued melancholy. I realized that he must be thinking of his wife. It was astounding that Nadir should ever be reminded of the love he lost by the love I have gained; it is inexpressibly unfamiliar for me to be at the opposite hand of this trade, to for the first time be the man who is envied for anything other than his genius.

Finally Christine spoke in a quiet, loving whisper. "I am yours, Erik," she said.

This would have been by far enough for me, more than enough; tears blurred my vision. Everything I'd ever wanted…all that I'd ever needed, to know someone was mine, suddenly being handed to me, willingly, by the only person whom I'd ever accept such words from. But she had given me more than just words, she had given me the greatest gift I could ever imagine.

I nearly dared to lean forward and touch my lips to her forehead in a barely considerable kiss (as my mask would obstruct it), but I realized she was not finished speaking. Far from it, in fact, as she removed the ebony mask from my features, presenting me in all my grotesque glory. My eyes must have betrayed my shame and surprise, as she took my face into her hands. "Don't be frightened," with an insurmountable content of tenderness.

She proceeded to kiss each and every inch of my waxen, tallow complexion, my forehead, my cheeks, each closed eyelid. She wept, her sweet tears flowing downward and falling to my face, intermingling with my own tears.

She looked into my eyes, her own blue ones moist but joyous, and spoke slowly, clearly, deliberately.

"Now, before God and Monsieur le Persian, I take you, Erik, as my husband, and I call myself your wife."

And she took my lips, deeply and surely.

How does one describe the unique, mysterious feeling of a kiss? How can one express his complete, utter appreciation of a kiss after living a half century without one? Many times, trapped in the demented torrent of my desire, I imagined what her perfect lips might feel like against my own. Not one of my fantasies came close to the reality. She could never know the things I'd thought of, late at night when my lust made sleep impossible, the ways I'd pretended — no.

For her to discover the depth of my desperation would bring me unspeakable shame, even despite that loved me, and now that she knew my past down to the last gory details, I doubted anything I could do would make her stop. If knowing I had killed, stolen, and lied without regret could not repel her from me, what could? There was hardly a need for secret-keeping, for once in my life. For the first time in my life, there was trust.

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It is not difficult to imagine what happened next. What did proved to be the most magical, deservedly awaited moment of my life. She was finally mine in the deepest, most complete sense of the word, and I was hers. Each with eagerness we came to each other's arms and bonded as one, without reserve nor guilt nor restraint, only with love.

We dressed once more, she gingerly pulling my nightshirt over my head, before I lay back down in my mother's bed -- the bed I entered this world in, and the bed I would exit it from. I closed my eyes for the final time, at last releasing any emotion aside from happiness at being accompanied by the only woman who'd ever loved me and whom I'd loved ardently in return. God willing -- I'd spent my entire life denouncing Him, but suddenly, in my last moments, I was having a change of heart -- God willing, I'd see her again someday.

_Fin_


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